


How to Cross a Rift

by Talypo



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Agent 24, Detectives, F/F, Inkling - Freeform, Police, Shipping, octoling - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:31:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talypo/pseuds/Talypo
Summary: Agents 3 and 8 take positions at the Civil Service Police Department. following the events after splat 2 and OE, a few years on. shipping, hyjinx, slice of life, police drama





	How to Cross a Rift

**Author's Note:**

> a warning to anyone reading; this is my first fic, i dont have alot of spare time, depending on how this goes it may or may not be updated regularly or at all. i cant tell you exactly where its going to go, but i wont shy away from anything that would be an improvement (imo) to the story (violence, gore, controversial topics, explicit, etc).  
i dont have plans to turn this into a gore-fest or go R rated, but be aware that nothings off the table (bar like, illegal stuff). i do have plans to describe investigation scenes etc (its a police/shipping fic, you signed up for this) and have characters swear.
> 
> if you have a problem with any of the above, maybe give this one a pass. amateur shipping/detective fic that could go in any direction (rating wise) and updates once a century not your thing? i'd be flattered if you gave it a shot, but just keep it in mind

_ “To cross a gap, be it physical, emotional or social, requires a few things. Effort, will power, ability, and the correct method. Whatever gap needs to be traversed, perhaps it's best to take a step back, and question why you’re trying to cross in the first place. Patience, and laziness, is a virtue.” _

_ \- Dr. J. Fisher _

  
  
  
  


In Three’s opinion, motivational quotes are shit. We’re already off to a good start, aren't we? Something about their condescending, ignorantly positive tone during her ‘breakfast’ before dragging herself to work to put her nose to the grind stone for 6 hours didn't quite manage to instil that sense of inspiration in her. Rather, Three took great pleasure each morning slagging off the poor jelly (Dr Jason Fisher, psychiatrist) and his taste in everything that he’s ever done. After having done an *extensive* Google search into his qualifications, she could confirm that him and his “motivational” sections of The Days Catch were both a waste of oxygen and trees.

Three’s not petty, YOU’RE petty.

She sighed. Well, huffed. Ok, groaned. Inklings, generally speaking, aren't morning creatures. It's not in their nature to enjoy moving from their comfy nests for anything other than food. There were exceptions, like those health nutters who go for 5am jogs, but Three was certainly not one of them. Before she saved up enough G to afford her precious Sea-Dragon P-180, the poor squid was bound by the metro. For a fairly central work locale, there was sweet FA in terms of train options. Be at the station for 6:10, or be late by 2 hours. Getting up at 5:30 wasn't the highlight of her career, and didn’t make her feel “refreshed and clear” (thanks, Doc.). Now, she had a cool extra 15 minutes to destroy “doctor” Fishers pathetic excuse of a career and insult the horrorscope (10 minutes actual criticism, 4 minutes writing down the good ones for her mates at the office, 11 minutes trying to find out where the damn page was and which horrorscope was hers). Sweet.

Today's horoscope wasn't actually that bad. “ _ The current negotiations in a business deal are not going as quickly as you would like them to, but don't worry—just because you are feeling held back doesn't mean that you are being outmaneuvered. No one is trying to trick you—they are merely trying to outlast you!”  _ well, maybe ‘not bad’ was a stretch. Not telling her to hug randos, atleast. Eight’ll like Scorpios, so 20g well spent. 

140g a week is a hit to her budget, but The Days Catch was her bread and butter. Having some pre-teen deliver it right to her doorstep before she was even awake brought her a feeling of euphoria that could only be described as gleeful spite. Mature, she knows. Schadenfreude, as the Germans put it. Honestly, some days she almost felt bad for the little delinquent who delivered her paper all the way out here. When Eight heard about it, she’d insisted on leaving out a tip. Three liked having a paper, but the thought of shelling out an additional 90g a week to some snot-nosed kid made her gag. So twinky would just have to settle for whenever Eight was around to force her.

Three took one last, long swig of tea before shoving both the mug (batman mug, what's it to you?) and half a rejected poptart across the counter. Shift starts at 7:30, that gives her a good 15 minutes to get changed (as much as she loved her fuzzy turtle socks and seagull pj's, something told her it wasn’t up to code) and a little tentacle oil never hurt anyone…

She usually wasn't the type to care about makeup, and tentacle oil isn't exactly cheap, but it saved her an extra journey before this evening. Her locker already had a set of nice clothes to change into after work, yet a little effort did go along way with these events. 

Three dragged herself out of the kitchen, to within grabbing distance of her uniform. It wasn't as if she shared her little house with anyone, so it was wasted effort to trudge all the way to the bedroom to strip off. Such laziness did take some getting used to, but with the gulls gone and ‘West  Inkopolis C.S.P.D’ emblazoned proudly across her chest in record time, for once Three couldn't complain. She didn't have the worst lot in life. She lived comfortably enough, had a stable job, albeit, not the job she wanted, but a fairly cushy lifestyle as few modern work lives would allow. Still, it had its downsides. Three had long since learnt to keep her badges concealed in a pocket when out in public, to throw on a coat, even in summer, to hide the crest, and keep her hat on her desk whenever possible. 

Rising tensions between the social classes with the emergence of octoling slums in the alleys had forced the department into hard choices. Compromise wasn't enough, evidently. Flushing problematic and innocent octolings alike from the busiest areas of the city didn't make them any new friends, and spending the already dwindling budget on supporting economic co-existence and rights for ‘those filthy immigrants’ wasn't keeping any, either. Officers’ cars had been keyed, homes broken into, harassed.

Three herself hadn’t bared the worst of it personally. She lived too far from the station to be followed home, and her car was fitted only with undercover lights, not the full paint job. She’d been suckered in the face on the train, had ‘pro-co’ protesters trap her in the square, blocking her way till the radioed backup came to clear them out. Events like that did nothing to improve her outlook on her duty, but what stung most was the little, day to day things. How crustation families would stop and stare at her in public, the unease laced behind any merchants voice when they served her. Worse, how octoling families would hush their little ones when she was in earshot ushering them into the nearest shop or cafe away from her. She recognised a few of them, from shelter days,  pro-10 and IFI/anti OFI raids, the occasional thief. All feared, all hated.

There wasn't time for self-pity. It wasn't fair to complain, especially when Eight, the only octoling bar the janitor on the force, bared the brunt of the attacks. Pro-co held her on a pedestal, most times. Of all the officers, Eight was predictably the most trusted and loved among the cities octarian population. Being thanked and congratulated for ‘sticking up for the little guys’ Other times, she’d be spat and hissed at for being a traitor to her people. Pro-10 and the other, radical speciest groups were outraged by her position of authority, sneering at her and the department for being the ‘token octo’. Three didn't like to think about the assaults Eight had been put through. Even now, her knuckles bleached a sickly white, mantle rippling was onyx waves of hatred and worry, as memories became pouring back into the frontlines.

  
  


_ March 12th, 21:47 _

_ *Knocking at Threes door* _

_ “Hello? Is anyone, home?” _

_ “The fuck- Eight, is that you out there? The hell are you-?” _

_ “I-i promise. I'll explain. I just.. Can I come in, please?” _

_ “Uh, yeah, yeah of course” _

_ *Threes keys scratch the rusted keyhole jarringly, hands fumbling to open the door* _

_ “Eight, why are- HOLY SHIT! EIGHT!” _

_ “O-oh… its, that bad…” _

_ “YOUR TENTACLE! WHAT THE FUCK?!” _

_ “Three, please, i need- stop yelling…” _

  
  


The doctors weren't able to save the limb. The fuckos responsible were too dumb not to get caught by CCTV, but that was a shallow victory, compared to the damages. The amputation was messy, IFI radicalists tended to be rich, and thus could afford the type of switchblade that came laced with ink concentrate, capable of burning through, rotting away sensitive tissues, like tentacles.

  
  


Anyway.

  
  


she swallowed a dry snarl, busying herself with coaxing the gushing black into a more manageable sky blue, with the help of her tentacle oil. Three tried to keep her thoughts away from those memories. The job required constant non bias. And yet, as she angrily tossed her belongings into a rucksack, snatched her keys from the entrance table and stormed outside, a tiny part of her, tied down by years of torment, whispered. Growing louder, more taunting with every accusation, as she stepped into her small, rickety car.

“Fuck it.” 

Only the stench of burning rubber, petrol, and guilt, lingered in the drive moments later

**Author's Note:**

> hahhhh did this in 1 night, the end probably majorly dipped in quality. my bad. thanks so much for reading!
> 
> so this is something similar to a detective/police drama/flick? feat. agent 24. mixing office drama, investigations and slice of life. this chapter was mostly just setting the scene, in terms of the social implications of OE. honestly i planned this chapter to span a days worth of time, not like, 30 minutes. guess i have a plan for the next chapter, then
> 
> Huge thanks to aglowSycophant / sperry, op24 and generally everyone in the agent24 community over on tumblr (artists and writers alike). You guys are awesome, I'm happy to be finally contributing something to the community that hopefully someone will enjoy. If anyone wants to follow the blog which will be announcing when/if this'll ever be updated, I'm @Talypo on tumblr
> 
> Absolutely 100% open to constructive criticism, or just criticism in general. as long as you can give a reason for why I'm 'insert insult here', it'll help someone, right? that being said, a little common decency would be nice (she says, on the internet)
> 
> edited for proofing (thanks comments, its probably still not right)


End file.
